Cluesies
by captain noodle
Summary: Crossover between Newsies and Clue, craziness ensues. (unfinished)
1. guess who's coming to dinner

Dark clouds began forming over the New York City skyline, as a well-dressed young woman arrived in a carriage at the Manhattan Lodging House. As she exited the coach, she extracted a package from underneath her arm; a leg of lamb. As she did this, two gigantic city rats began snarling from underneath the stairs. The lady threw the leg to the vicious rats, and unlocked the door. She entered the elegantly furnished building, and proceeded straight for the study, where a scantily clad Swedish maid was dusting champagne flutes, and singing to herself.   
  
"My lovey-dovey, baaaaaby," she sang in an overly Swedish accent.  
  
"Cut it out, Medda. Is everything in order?" the woman asked.  
  
"Yez, Noodle," she answered, scowling.  
  
"Noodlesworth, Medda, and don't you forget it. I've got to check on dinner," Noodlesworth snapped, leaving Medda to her dusting and singing. She strode to the kitchen, her shoes making a clacking noise on the polished hardwood floors.   
  
Noodlesworth entered the kitchen, and was met by the cook. "Voodoo, how's dinner coming?" she asked, duly noting the large and threatening knife Voodoo was wielding.   
  
"Right on schedule, Noodle. By the by, how do the guests like their haggis?" Voodoo asked, sharpening the knife. The haggis, it seemed, was sitting in a bowl for the moment.  
  
Peering over the edge of the bowl, Noodlesworth barked, "Noodlesworth, Voodoo, commit it to memory." Apparently, Voodoo was no cook to be snapped at, and promptly approached her verbal assailant with the knife. At that most opportune moment, the bell rang, and Noodlesworth scurried to the door.  
  
A dark figure stood shivering at the door. "Hello Colonel Spot, please, come inside," Noodlesworth greeted.  
  
"T'anks, but I ain't Colonel Spot, I'm Colonel-" Spot corrected.   
  
"Please, Colonel, tonight you're to be referred to under a pseudonym. All the guests tonight will," Noodlesworth interjected, taking Spot's heavy overcoat, and ushering him into the study. "Medda, please be accommodating for Spot, within reason, of course," she said, leaving Spot ogling Medda's seemingly endless curves.   
  
The bell sounded again, and Noodlesworth scurried to the door, straightening her dress. The next guest had arrived, a slender woman, not much older than Noodlesworth herself. Opening the door, Noodlesworth noticed the haughty disposition of the aforementioned woman. She nearly knocked her over as she entered the Lodging House, throwing her long caramel-colored cape in Noodlesworth's face.  
  
"Alright, I'm here," the woman stated rather dully. "What am I doing here?" she asked condescendingly.  
  
"If you'll follow me to the study, Ms. Brown, all will be revealed in due time," Noodlesworth said through clenched teeth. She silently hoped that if any of the guests were to meet with an untimely death tonight, Ms. Brown would be first to go.   
  
However, Noodlesworth, being the proper lady she was, pushed any ill feelings towards the horrible woman aside. There was a great task at hand, and she'd be damned if a stuffed shirt like Brown would put a damper on it. Sighing deeply, she hung Ms. Brown's coat on the rack and led her into the study. "Ms. Brown, Colonel Spot. I believe you two've met before?" Noodlesworth said, choking back laughter. For she knew something; something that neither of the unsuspecting guests knew. But that doesn't come until later.   
  
The two eyed each other most suspiciously, but neither could put a finger on what they knew the other from. Ms. Brown chortled, "Why, I don't have any clue as to what you're talking about… What did you say your name was, dearie?"  
  
"I didn't. It's Noodlesworth," she replied coldly.  
  
"Uh, lovely name," Brown replied, vacantly examining her nails.  
  
"So, uh, when's we eatin'?" Spot asked while giving Ms. Brown a good long look. Ms Brown noticed this, and sneered at the Colonel most viciously.   
  
"As soon as the other guests arrive, dinner will be served in the dining room. Until then, if you'd like a cocktail, Medda would be more than happy to service- that is to say, serve you," Noodlesworth replied flatly, exiting the study. The bell rang once again, as Noodlesworth was about to check on dinner.   
  
The next two guests had arrived together. How they'd managed that, Noodlesworth had no idea. She could hear their bickering through the heavy wooden door, which puzzled her, but if they were anything like the other two guests, it would all make sense somehow. Pulling open the oak door, she was met with an odd sight. She, of course, recognized the guests; Professor Mush, a handsome man wearing a velvety purple suit, and Miss Binny, a stunning young woman clad in a slinky maroon gown. Miss Binny was hitting Professor Mush over the head with a red umbrella.  
  
"Never" -smack- "do" -smack- "that" -smack- "again" -smack- she shouted, punctuating each word by hitting the Professor with her umbrella. Professor Mush seemed very confused as to why he was being repeatedly assaulted.  
  
"Please Miss Binny," Noodlesworth pleaded, "Please don't hit him. Wh-why are you hitting him anyway?"   
  
Binny stopped, suddenly hearing this, and shot a surprised glance at Noodlesworth. "Who are you?" she asked.  
  
"Noodlesworth. I'm the butler/head maid here," she said, still wondering what the Professor could have done to infuriate Miss Binny so. Since Binny seemed unwilling to answer her question, Noodlesworth turned to Professor Mush, who was rubbing his head profusely. "What did you do?" she asked, motioning for them to come inside.  
  
Professor Mush did not move. He stared at his shiny black shoes, and fiddled with his glasses, which were broken, and falling off his nose. "Well, I uh, I…" he stammered.  
  
"He grabbed my," she coughed. "Well, he grabbed my... posterior," Binny huffed. She glared at Professor Mush, holding her umbrella menacingly. As she spoke, the Professor blushed a deep shade of pink, and rushed down the hall into a room he soon discovered was the bathroom.  
  
Noodlesworth hurried after him, leaving Miss Binny standing alone in the hallway with her red umbrella. "Study, second room on the left!" Noodle added, poking her head out of the bathroom door. Grinning, Binny hung her coat and umbrella on the rack, and followed Noodlesworth's directions to find herself in the study.  
  
As she was trying to coax the humiliated Professor out of the bathroom, the bell rang once again. She grabbed Mush by his ear and dragged him out of the powder room, and to the front door with her. "Open it," she commanded, and whimpering, Mush did just that.  
  
"Is this the place where I'm supposed to be now?" the man, who had curly brown hair and a cheery disposition, asked. He was clothed entirely in green, and was accompanied by a small, sword-toting manservant.   
  
"Mr. Mouth, how wonderful to see you've arrived safely, I'm Noodlesworth, and I'm the butler/head maid here," Noodlesworth said, taking Mouth's coat and hat. The manservant was glaring at her indignantly and growling.  
  
"Down boy. She's all right. You'd better be on your best behavior tonight, or you wait outside with those rats," Mouth warned, hitting his manservant with a paper. "Terribly sorry, he's not good with strangers," he apologized. The little… creature grunted in response.   
  
"This way, sir, and... thing," Noodlesworth instructed, openly avoiding Mouth's manservant. Something about the impish little thing gave her the heebie-jeebies. However, she opened the door to the study, determined to tolerate it.   
  
It seems that while she was at the door, all hell had broken loose in the study. Ms. Brown was shrieking about a stain on her silk dress, Spot was holding his left eye as if it were falling out, and Binny was jumping on the couch, laughing insanely and egging on Mush to "Take a swing at that 'war hero'." Medda was cowering in the corner with an ice bucket perched atop her large hair.  
  
"STOP! EVERYONE JUST STOP!" Noodlesworth bellowed. Each guest stopped what he or she was doing, with the obvious exception of Medda, who continued to mutter unintelligible words of consolation to her hair. "You" -pointing at Ms. Brown- "sit down and shut up. You" -pointing at Spot- "come with me to the kitchen. You" -pointing at Mush- "sit next to her." -motioning to Brown- "And you, get off that couch, you should know better," she finished by scolding Binny.   
  
"I'll help myself to a drink, then," Mouth said, looking wide-eyed at the other guests. "Come Lester, sit with me." He caught Ms. Brown's eye, and almost jumped out of his seat. She did the same, and made kissy-noises, causing Lester to run into her outstretched arms. Mouth shot her a look that said, "Give me back my manservant before I have to do something drastic. Like put a red sock in with your white laundry." His look was well interpreted, for within moments, Lester was scuttling back to Mr. Mouth.   
  
Noodle rushed Spot to the kitchen to get him a steak for his blackening eye. "I'm terribly sorry about this Colonel. How did this happen?" she asked.  
  
"I ain't tellin'," he said, pouting.  
  
"Very well, sir," Noodlesworth said, rolling her eyes. The rich could be such children at times. She led him into the kitchen, where Voodoo was putting some finishing touches on the haggis. Her stomach lurched.  
  
"Almost ready, Noodle," Voodoo said, placing some parsley around the hunks of the Scottish dish on each of the guests plates. "Has everyone arrived?" she asked.  
  
"No, Ms. Cats and Mrs. Harlequinne have yet to arrive. Dinner looks, um, fabulous, Voodoo," she said, choking back the urge to vomit. "Can I have something frozen to put on the Colonel's eye; he's been hit, I assume."   
  
Voodoo looked at the simpering Spot. "What, the poor dear can't manage. The ickle Colonel can't deal wif a bwack eye?" she sneered. "Well, he certainly can't have any of my steaks. See if you can find something else. How about a wet rag? He'd probably feel most comfortable with something he's familiar with," she suggested.   
  
Spot scoffed her remark, but grabbed the wet rag she handed to him and held it to his eye. "Ta'nks," he murmured, and slunk back to the study, leaving a trail of water in his wake.   
  
There was a pounding at the door. "Coming, coming," Noodlesworth said, more to herself than to anyone else. "Which one of the guests would knock on the door, when the bell was very visible, and much easier on the knuckles," she wondered aloud.   
  
"The kind that's been waiting out here for at least 5 minutes," an angry female voice answered through the door.   
  
Noodlesworth cringed. She needed another discontent guest like she needed to eat Voodoo's haggis. "Terribly sorry, we had a… situation… in the study," she explained as she opened the door. Much to her surprise, she stood face to chin of the guest. Blinking, she took a step back so she could see more of whom she recognized as Mrs. Cats. She was clothed entirely in black, and was wearing a black veiled hat.   
  
"So this is the place, huh?" she said, stepping inside, and handing her hat and cloak to Noodlesworth.  
  
"Beg your pardon?" Noodle said, hanging the cloak and hat on the heavily overburdened rack.  
  
"This is the place I'm supposed to be, I take it. You know, the mysterious letter? Never mind, just show me to the brandy," she said, rolling her eyes.   
  
"Very well, follow me," said Noodlesworth. She'd had about as much as she could take with the guests, and they hadn't even all arrived yet. She paused before opening the door to the study, and silently prayed that all was calm within.  
  
Luckily, all was well, but it was strangely silent. The only sound was the grunting of Lester, as he devoured a treat from Mouth's hand. Ms. Brown was mourning her dress, Spot was holding his wet rag gingerly to his eye and dripping water all over himself, Mush was twiddling his thumbs and casually trying to look down Medda's dress, Binny was giving Mush discouraging looks, but no one spoke a word.  
  
Cats surveyed the room, and almost immediately said, "What, did somebody die?"  
  
"From the looks of it, someone you know," Binny shot back, noting Cats monochromatic garb.  
  
"But how? Oh, the clothes, yes, well, husbands are funny things," Cats replied all too casually.  
  
Binny was about to ask how they were funny, but was interrupted by someone at the door. Noodlesworth pursed her lips, and clenched her fists. "Medda, make yourself useful, and get the door," she said, her left eye twitching.   
  
Medda slowly picked herself up off the floor, and walked purposefully to the door. The male guests, excluding Mouth who was amusedly gazing around the room at the vast number of books, seemed quite unhappy to see Medda go, and Mush gave an audible whimper as the door shut behind her. This was merit enough for Binny to soundly swat his head, although the onlookers seriously doubted Mush feeling it through his hair.  
  
Moments later, Medda returned, bringing with her the last guest, whom Noodlesworth recognized as Mrs. Harlaquinne. The other guests glanced at her, said a mumbled greeting, and looked expectantly at Noodlesworth.  
  
"What is it now? Have I got something on my face?" she asked, licking a handkerchief and rubbing it all over her face.  
  
"No, I believe I speak for all of us when I say, 'WHEN'S DINNER?!'" Cats shouted amid hungry nods from the other guests.  
  
"Oh. Ok," said Noodlesworth.  
  
"No problem, just trying to move things along," Cats replied, smirking.  
  
"If you'd walk this way," Noodlesworth said, gesturing for them to follow her. She led them out of the study, through the hall, and into the dining room.   
  
As the male guests obligingly helped the women into their seats, they noticed an empty chair at the head of the table. All seven of the guests stared apprehensively at the chair. "Who sits there?" Harlaquinne hesitantly asked.   
  
"Oh, there? We'll see, won't we," Noodlesworth said, skirting the question.  
  
Medda and Voodoo were bringing out the soup. Medda looked very pale, like someone who'd just tasted Voodoo's cooking.   
  
"Medda, you didn't test the main course did you?" Noodlesworth whispered worriedly.  
  
"Yez, vy?" Medda asked while setting bowls in front of Spot, Cats, and Harlaquinne.  
  
"Did you know what it was?" said Noodlesworth anxiously.  
  
"Vy, no. Vat vos it?" Medda replied, her face straining with worry.  
  
"Haggis, Medda, it was haggis!" Noodlesworth snapped. "Do you know what haggis is?"  
  
"No, I must admit I do not," Medda responded, her face turning a sickly shade of green.  
  
Noodlesworth put a hand to her forehead and sighed, "Go, go to the powder room. Hurry, and try not to ruin the tapestry."  
  
Medda tiptoed out of the room, and only then did Noodlesworth realize that not one of the guests had touched their soup, but were listening intently to her conversation.  
  
"Aren't you eating, Noodle?" asked Binny, who had started eating her soup.  
  
"Noodlesworth. And no, I ate before I left."  
  
"Ya don't live heah?" Spot asked, dumbfounded.  
  
"No," Noodlesworth answered simply.  
  
"Where do you live?" asked Mouth, "That is, if you don't mind my asking."  
  
"I hardly think it concerns you, but I live in a small flat not far from here," said Noodlesworth, sitting in a large plush chair in the corner of the dining room.  
  
"You don't say… I live in Manhattan as well," Mouth said, smiling broadly.  
  
"And I," sniffled Brown, still in a tizzy over her dress.  
  
"Me toooo!" cried Binny, bouncing in her chair.  
  
"Me oh my, ain't ya just a big happy fam'ly," sneered Spot.  
  
"Unfortunately," muttered Ms. Brown under her breath. Only Mouth seemed to have caught her remark, and picked up his fork quite threateningly.  
  
"Well, where are YOU from?" Binny demanded, pointing at Spot with her spoon.  
  
"If ya must know, I live in Brooklyn, but my business finds me in Man'attan a lot a da time," he said, pointing back at her with his spoon.  
  
Binny "harrumphed," but went back to slurping her soup. Cats, Mush, and Harlaquinne looked about, and resigned to also slurping their soup, to the disgust of Spot, Mouth and Brown. All three looked upon the slurping four with much disapproval.   
  
Cats stopped for a moment, and looked up thoughtfully. "So, we all live or work in Manhattan? It's a wonder I haven't seen any of you."  
  
"I know for a fact that's a lie," Mouth protested, slamming his fist on what he thought was the table, but what was actually Lester's thick little noggin. Lester fell over with a small squeal, and landed, THUD, on the floor.  
  
"Pardon?" said Cats, her eyes full of fire.  
  
"Why just yesterday, I saw you at the butcher's, admiring his fine collection of cleavers, and his other slaughtering implements," Mouth replied smugly.  
  
"Oh. Must not have seen you, then," she said.  
  
"You damn near ran Lester over!" he said, gesturing wildly, and unintentionally showering Ms. Brown with champagne. Binny snickered, and flung a chunk of potato from her soup behind Mouth, at Brown. Brown shrieked, and slapped Mouth, or at least tried to. She missed, and wound up smacking a priceless antique vase, causing it to fall to the floor and shatter.  
  
"Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry, I'll replace you for it," she muttered disconsolately.  
  
"You couldn't, miss, it was one of a kind, and extremely valuable," Noodlesworth sighed, walking over to a cabinet, and pulling out a vase identical to the last. She put it in the place of the broken one.  
  
"You said the other vase was irreplaceable," Cats said, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.  
  
"I merely said she couldn't replace it," Noodlesworth stated simply.  
  
"But you said it was one of a kind," Mush added.  
  
"That vase was one of a kind, as is this one, and all the rest of the vases in that cabinet," she said, slightly irritated.  
  
"But how can they be one of a kind if there's more than one of them?" Binny asked.  
  
"That's absurd, they aren't one of a kind," Noodlesworth snapped.  
  
"But you just said-" Harlaquinne began.  
  
"I said nothing of the sort. Eat your dinners, and go to the lounge once you're done. Stubby here will show you the way," she said shortly, motioning to a maid that had materialized next to her. Stubby curtseyed, and winked at Spot.  
  
"What happened to the redheaded tart?" Binny asked grinning madly.  
  
"She was having some intestinal difficulties, it's all very complicated and very disgusting," Noodlesworth replied, then added as an afterthought, "Stubby here is a competent replacement."  
  
The guests nodded, and pushed their untouched plates away from them. Voodoo popped into the dining room, beaming with pride, until she saw the many plates of uneaten haggis. "What? My haggis not good enough for ya? All you hoity-toity rich types too good for my specialty?!" she asked, enraged. She stomped out of the room, a threatening look plastered on her face.  
  
"We're done, lead us to the lounge, Stubby," Cats said a bit frantically, ushering the rest of the guests out of the dining room.   
  
Stubby and the guests were halfway to the lounge when the bell rang. Harlaquinne, who was in front of the group, stopped suddenly, causing the rest of the guests to hastily stop. Binny, whose shoes were a bit slick, slipped and fell to the floor. She'd grabbed Spot on her way down, who in turn caught hold of Mouth, who seized Brown, who grasped for Mush, who made a grab for Cats, who pulled her dress away just in time, and remained standing.   
  
Harley looked back at the other guests, visibly confused. "I thought all the guests had arrived, Noodle," she commented.  
  
Noodle clacked her way to the front door, refusing to reply to Harlaquinne's statement. Her voice cracked as she greeted the man at the door. "Welcome home Mr. Specs."  
  
"Well, hello, Noodle-baby, how's it goin'?" he hissed, smirking and looking over his glasses at the other guests. He was carrying a small suitcase, which he shoved at Stubby.   
  
"Oof. Where should I put this, sir?" Stubby asked.  
  
"Just follow me, sweetawt, the rest of ya'd do well to follow me too," he replied, stalking into the lounge, and sliding cat-like into an armchair. "Put that here," he instructed to Stubby.  
  
The guests were speechless, but followed Specs, and silently took seats where they could find them. Standing stiffly by the desk, Noodle motioned to Stubby. "Ok, just act like everything's fine, pour the guests some scotch, and don't give them any reason to worry. No purpose in getting them all worked up before there's something worth getting worked up about," she whispered.  
  
"Sure thing, Noodle," she answered back.  
  
Noodlesworth grabbed her arm. "Noodlesworth, Stubby. Noodlesworth," she corrected gravely. The events of the evening were taking a toll on her sanity, and she sat awkwardly on the corner of the desk, getting lost in thought.   
  
Cats lit a cigarette, and took a lazy drag. Specs seemed to have not fazed her in the least. "So," she said, gesturing at Specs, "are we ever going to find out why he brought us here?"   
  
Twitching, Noodlesworth looked up. All the guests were looking at her expectantly. "What? What are you leering at?" she sneered.   
  
"Cats just asked you why we were here," Harlaquinne answered, smiling slightly. She fiddled with her handbag nervously.  
  
"Oh. All will be revealed in due time, I assure you," she retorted, full of mystery.  
  
"Dat don't help, ya know," shot Spot, rolling his eyes. He left his wet rag in the dining room, and his eye was purpling quite nicely.  
  
The rest of the guests murmured in agreement. Noodlesworth sighed loudly, and looked over to Specs, who was halfway through his second glass of scotch. He looked back at her, an evil spark in his eyes. Or perhaps it was the light reflecting off his glasses.  
  
The guests followed her gaze, until everyone in the room was staring anxiously at Specs. "Aw, quit yer leering. Can't a man enjoy his scotch?" he inquired. The guests fixed their gaze upon him unblinkingly. "Fine," he pouted. "Stubby, be a doll and get me my bag," he said, his words flowing like silk. "Wait," he continued as an afterthought, "I'll let Noodle handle the minor details, I've got a phone call to make." He left the room, and the guests turned their gaze to Noodlesworth.  
  
"Oh, right. So, by now, you must have some idea as to why you all are here," she began.  
  
"Because we all answered a casting call!" supplied Harly, earning her confused looks from everyone in the room. "Never mind," she muttered.  
  
"Riiiiiight. Well, all of you are being blackmailed. Would any of you care to deny it?" she asked, looking at each of the guests in turn.   
  
Ms. Brown spoke up indignantly, "That's hardly any of your business!"   
  
"Hold on just one minute, Sarah. Why would someone blackmail you?" Mouth questioned.   
  
The rest of the guests gasped, for all of them realized who she was, and who Mouth and Lester be. The guests were increasingly infuriating Noodlesworth. "If you'd refrain from using real names, Mr. Mouth," she hollered.   
  
"Er, sorry about that..." Mouth apologized. "But I'm sure she's not supposed to be here!"  
  
"Now that I think about it, I don't recall her name being on the guest list, say, why are you here?" Noodlesworth inquired.  
  
"Well, I'm being blackmailed. I read Da-Mouth's letter, and decided to come myself. I want to find out who's blackmailing me too, damn it," she answered grouchily.  
  
"You mean you've done something worthy of blackmail? Spill it prissy," Cats sneered.  
  
Sarah began whimpering piteously into a handkerchief, "It's, it's all too horrible. I, I wore stripes and plaid together. I, I was having an off day. I thought no one saw me, but I guess someone did. And they've been blackmailing me ever since."  
  
Everyone in the lounge was holding back laughter, with the exception of Mouth and Sarah. "Sarah, you vapid wasteland of a human being. I've been blackmailing you."  
  
  
DUN DUN DUN...  
  
End of part one.  



	2. secret's out...

Cluesies, part deux  
  
The rest of the guests broke out in roaring laughter, some even rolling on the floor. Sarah cried, "David, how could you? I've been keeping your secret from mamma and papa, I even found you a beard!"  
  
David began making subtle gestures at Sarah, urging her to stop. "Sarah, shh, please. I'll lose my job!"  
  
She cocked an eyebrow mischievously and slinked over to her brother. "Davy, my dear boy, you're a news man. Why should I hold on to this hot story any longer? It's a great front pager. Perfect headlines, your little newsie friends'll be thrilled," she purred surreptitiously.  
  
David pleaded with her. Even Les began gnawing on the hem of her already ruined evening dress. The other guests stopped their laughing, and just stared at this blatant display of sibling rivalry. "Sarah, don't," he whined.  
  
"They would've figured it out anyway. And you've got to come clean, Dave, it'll be better for you. And if you want to keep your job, you'll comply," she said, stroking his chin with a delicate gloved hand.  
  
"Fine. I'm gay," he declared.  
  
"Sorry Dave, but no surprise. I pegged you as gay the moment I saw you," Cats stated dully.  
  
"Really? Do I come off as gay?" he asked the other guests.  
  
"Oh, no." the guests murmured, avoiding his glance.  
  
David pouted, and solemnly tossed Les a biscuit. "Well, I am. And I can't let my boss know, lest I lose my high-profile reporting job, which I've worked incredibly hard for," he sighed.  
  
Spot and Mush rolled their eyes. Denton had practically begged Dave to take a job as his assistant, with opportunities in advancement. Dave jumped at the prospect of starting a journalistic career.  
  
"Well, what about the rest of you? Sarah and I have shared, it's only fair that the rest of you do it too," he said, frowning.  
  
"Or I'll have to reveal it for you," Noodlesworth sighed. 'All in a day's work, my ass,' she thought to herself.  
  
Cats lit a cigarette and took a long puff from it. Arching an eyebrow she said, "They think I killed him. Why'd I want to do a thing like that, hm? He was a pathetic excuse for a man. A piano player for a vaudeville show." She paused, taking another breath.  
  
Binny began pacing the length of the room, Mush's pipe clenched between her teeth. "A murder then, eh? Primary, my dear Catsykins," she said, draping an arm over Cats' shoulder. "Who're the suspects, what's the motive?"  
  
"How should I know? I'm just a mourning widow. And as for a motive, you need look no further than dear sweet Medda. He played piano for her, and she, well, she paid him somehow. There's no substantial evidence against me, so I'm not worried any. I didn't do it, you know. Too brutal, even for me."  
  
"What happened to him?" Mush asked hesitantly.  
  
"According to the coroner, each of his ivory/Medda-tickling fingers had been cut off and stuffed in his mouth. The cause of death was suffocation on his own fingers," Cats stated with little emotion. "I've got an iron- clad alibi, mind you," she interjected, before anyone could say anything.  
  
"I also admit that I'm being blackmailed, but at least I can own up to what I've done," Binny said smirking. "Aren't you gonna ask me what I do?"  
  
"We know," everyone else chorused.  
  
"How?" Binny demanded.  
  
"We've all patronized your illegal gambling hall. Some of us more often than others," Harlaquinne replied, glaring at Spot.  
  
"Well then. Aren't I the celebrity? It's almost not worth it; I've blown all my hard earned dollars on keeping it hush-hush," Binny responded despondently.  
  
"So mighty Colonel, what does our blackmailer have on you?" Cats inquired, snuffing her cigarette out on the arm of a chair.  
  
Noodlesworth was about to protest, but was interrupted by the jubilant cries of David. "I know! I know!"  
  
"Please don't, please don't," pleaded Spot.  
  
"You dance in a show as a woman," Dave sang smugly.  
  
"Dat's a lie!" Spot protested.  
  
"Is it?" Cats asked, face rapt with speculation.  
  
"No," Spot muttered.  
  
"How do you know?" Harlaquinne asked of Dave.  
  
"Well, I've known for a while now, and I frequent some dives downtown. One night, there happened to be live entertainment, and low and behold, out struts Mr. Big-Bad-Brooklyn himself, in a devilishly eye-catching little red number. It rivals even yours, Miss Binny," Dave said, patting Les' head.  
  
Both Binny and Spot blushed at this remark, while the rest of the guests chortled loudly. Pouting, Spot muttered, "Whaddabout chu, Mrs. Harlaquinne?"  
  
"Me?" she asked innocently.  
  
"No, the Harlaquinne sitting beside you," said Cats, rolling her eyes.  
  
"You don't have to be snappy."  
  
"No, but it does give me quite the rush. Talk, it's not like your true identity is a secret to any of us."  
  
"It's rumored that I had something to do with the untimely death of my husband's opposition in the mayoral election. It is completely and entirely untrue."  
  
"So that's how that sap Swifty won the election," Binny mused to herself.  
  
"If it's 'completely and entirely untrue' as you say, why are you paying the blackmailer?" Mush asked skeptically.  
  
"To keep my husband's name clean. Not to mention, I could never show my face in polite company if that got leaked to the press," she huffed.  
  
"Uh, hi? I'm a reporter for the New York Sun? Did that slip your mind, or am I supposed to keep this quiet?" Dave said flatly.  
  
Halraquinne scowled, "I was hoping you'd keep it quiet, as I could just as easily speak to your boss about your little secret."  
  
"Agreed," he replied shortly.  
  
At this point in the conversation, all eyes were turned on Professor Mush. He gazed ingenuously into his brandy, avoiding the eager glance from the others. Not thirty seconds later, he looked up, and met Cats' penetrating look. "What, my turn for show and tell already?"  
  
"Speak up, Professor, we can't hear you in the back," Sarah chirped.  
  
"Shove it ya trollop," Spot snapped.  
  
Binny was squirming in her seat, her hands over her mouth, suppressing laughter. "Biiiiiiiiinyyyyyyy," Harly coaxed, "C'mon Binny, enlighten us. It's not fair, you know."  
  
Binny reached into her handbag, and extracted what appeared to be a magazine. Wordlessly, she passed it to Harly, who flipped through it, and stopped midway through the publication. Her face reddened, and she gave Professor Mush a once-over, grinning. Then she passed the magazine to Stubby, who winked at Mush and had to have it torn from her grasp by Cats, who was overly eager to see what had stirred up the other guests.  
  
She examined the page from all possible angles before shifting her gaze to Professor Mush, who had dived under an armchair as soon as she'd acquired the magazine. "Now, now, Mush. It's a very nice photograph. But there's one thing I don't get. What's with the sheep?" she asked, removing him from his hiding spot, "And it's not like we're cat-calling or anything." She winked at the other female guests as she spoke, and on cue, they began whistling, and even Noodlesworth, who was growing increasingly jaded, winked Mush's way.  
  
A very intrigued Dave made his way across the room to the huddle of women. "What is all the commotion abo-" he said, stopping short on seeing the magazine. "Well, well, well, someone certainly works out. But what's with the sheep?"  
  
"I, I had to do it, to pay for my education," he stammered. "It's expensive becoming a Professor."  
  
"Speaking of which, what exactly are you a professor of? Science? Mathematics?" Harlaquinne inquired.  
  
"Uh," he began.  
  
Binny snickered. "That's his name," she whispered to the cluster of guests.  
  
Sarah paled, Cats chuckled, Harlaquinne blushed, and Dave looked disparagingly at Mush. "Really, prettyboy, who did you think you were kidding. You're to damn good-looking to be a scholar. And don't be ashamed, I mean, it's not like you cross-dress and dance downtown in a cheap saloon," Dave offered.  
  
Mush held his head in his hands. "My girlfriend's gonna kill me," he muttered to himself.  
  
The women and Dave giggled, while Spot rolled his eyes and snickered. Suddenly, Specs burst through the door in a drunken stupor. "All dirty laundry aired? Huh?" he slurred, then seeing the red faces, "Must be, well then. Stubby, hon, my suitcase."  
  
Stubby dragged the suitcase across the floor to where Specs was standing, downing the remaining contents of the gin bottle in his right hand. "Um, sir, I daresay you've had enough," Stubby murmured, wrestling the bottle away from him. He looked at her like a kindergartener that just got his cookie taken away, then flumped into a big cushy chair by the fireplace.  
  
"Stubby, give the guests their packages. The color of the box will coordinate with the recipient's color of clothing," he drawled, as Stubby scurried about the room, handing out boxes to each of the guests.  
  
Blue to Harlaquinne, red to Binny, purple to Mush, yellow to Spot, white to Cats, and green to David. Stubby looked at Sarah, then dug her arm into the suitcase, and finally looked unsurely upon Specs. "Sir, there's no box for Sarah," she said.  
  
"Who? What the bloody hell's she doing here?" he asked, looking fiercely at her.  
  
Sarah huffed, "I got one of those letter things."  
  
"Noods, baby, did you screw up again?" he growled in a drunken rage. He got up from his chair, and stalked across the room to where Noodlesworth was cowering in the corner.  
  
"Specs, I swear, I only sent them to the people on the list," she protested, sinking to the floor.  
  
"But the Jacobs girl wasn't on the list, was she?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"Then how do you explain the letter?"  
  
"She showed me no letter, Specs."  
  
Specs threw the bottle into the wall next to Noodlesworth. "Did I not make it abundantly clear that before allowing the guests to enter, they'd have to show you their letter?"  
  
"Yes, but."  
  
"No buts," he snarled, picking her up by the back of her dress. He raised an angry fist, and then suddenly collapsed. In his place stood Binny, a broad grin plastered across her face, and a long, thin umbrella in her hands.  
  
Noodlesworth smiled gratefully, and thought to herself, "Thank God for unbalanced umbrella carriers."  
  
"Like it? It was my present. See the tip? It's a spear," Binny chirped happily.  
  
"You stabbed him?" Harlaquinne said in shock.  
  
"No, I just hit 'im. Really hard. What was I s'posed to do, let him hit her?" Binny protested.  
  
"Really, Harlaquinne, you have qualms with killing?" Cats purred, running her gift, a cat-o'-nine-tails, through her slender fingers.  
  
Harlaquinne shot a look of pure evil towards Cats, but Spot, who just happened to be walking by, deflected it. He got the full force of it, stumbled over his own feet, and fell, breaking the coffee table. Noodlesworth gave an exasperated sigh and said, "Stubby, could you please take care of the mess?"  
  
Stubby huffed angrily, but reminded herself that she was a maid, and cleaning stuff kinda was part of the job description. She slunk over to the closet and dragged out a large trashcan, then began picking the broken pieces up, scowling at Spot. "Uncoordinated cross dresser," she muttered to herself.  
  
"You know what Stubby? Stop. Spot, you broke that, you pick it up," Noodlesworth sighed, as a very powerful headache began brewing in her head.  
  
"B-but, I'm a guest!" he pouted.  
  
"I stopped caring when Specs got hit over the head with an umbrella," Noodlesworth muttered to herself. This was not the way things were supposed to happen. In an effort to regain some structure to the evening, she turned to Sarah and said, "You. Out. NOW."  
  
"But, what about- "  
  
"No. Go. Now."  
  
Sarah stood up, and composed herself as best she could. Stubby snickered as she led Sarah to the door. A resounding cheer erupted from the study when the heavy oak door slammed.  
  
"Ok, can we solve one thing right now?" Mush asked.  
  
"What's on you mind, pretty boy?" Cats replied.  
  
"What're these things for?"  
  
A drawling voice came from the corner. "To kill Noodle. She knows where the evidence against all of you is. She alone can expose you to the press. She can profit from you loss," Specs groaned, rubbing his exceptionally sore head. Everyone else in the room gasped. "What, you thought sweet little Binny could kill me?" he said with a cold, cruel laugh.  
  
Binny scrunched up her face and shook her fist at Specs. "Try me, ya bum," she threatened.  
  
"Oh, I'll be sure to," he replied suggestively. Binny shuddered, and retreated behind Cats, who seemed to be much more poised.  
  
"Specs, don't pick on her, she's just a kid," said Cats. "And thanks for the whip. It's cute."  
  
"Yeah!" agreed Mush.  
  
"Not much with the words, huh 'Professor'?" Specs hissed, cocking his head to one side in mock sympathy.  
  
Spot charged at Specs with his gift, a large club. Specs stepped to one side, and Spot crashed into the wall. "Ow," he groaned.  
  
"I'm supposed to be afraid of a guy who wears a dress? You have got to be kidding me," Specs chuckled, stalking across the room. "Now, on to the business at hand. I would kill Noodle myself, but I really don't need that on my record, with 6 witnesses to prove my guilt, now do I? But, if I turn off this light, and one of you kills her, it'll be virtually impossible to tell which one of you is the murderer. Then we can all go back to the way things were, and live happily ever after. As long as you keep paying me blackmail money."  
  
The guests looked thoughtfully at their gifts; Binny's umbrella, Spot's club, Cats' whip, Mush's cattle prod, Harlaquinne's frying pan, Davy's waffle iron, then turned to Noodlesworth, who was laughing softly to herself in the corner. Specs winked at Noodlesworth, then flipped off the lights.  
  
"CRACK! ZZZT! TSSSSS! THUNK! YIIIIIIIIIIIYA! WATCH IT! THUMP."  
  
End of Tape 1, Part Two.  
  
Please switch to Tape 2, Part 3. 


	3. *gasp* theres a 3rd chapter?

Cluesies, Part III  
  
Author: Noodle  
  
Author email: dino91284@aol.com  
  
Category: murder-mystery, humor  
  
Spoilers: the movie "Clue"  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: More deaths, (hopefully) more laughs, and more of evil!Specs. Also, slight Les abuse. *snicker* You know you love it.  
  
Disclaimer: Movie Newsies belong to Disney, I stole the plot from Clue, and that belongs to whomever that belongs to. Noodle is my own creation, and the other girls belong to themselves… and… don't sue!  
  
Author's note: A special thank you to Whiskey, who helped me in places I got stuck. :o) And an odd sort of thank you to my inanely bothersome sister, who's annoying head slapping and yelling at me resulted in my seeking solace in Cluesies.  
  
  
  
Stubby and Lester sat on the pool table in the billiard room, playing poker. Lester was losing horribly, and the only thing keeping him from chewing a leg off the pool table was the sound of "his master's voice" emanating from a speaker on the bar.  
  
"Ok, show em, squirt," Stubby said.  
  
Les grunted, and laid his cards on the table. Stubby frowned, seeing how high his hand was.  
  
"Well, I've got a pair of three's, a seven, a jack, and a ten. You've got a straight. Tough luck, pal, I win again," she sighed, shrugging as Lester growled in protest. He crouched, ready to jump at her neck, until…  
  
"DON'T YOU GET IT? HE'S DEAD! THERE'S A KILLER AMONG US!"  
  
Stubby looked at Les, then at the speaker, and back at Les again. She let loose a bloodcurdling scream, and fainted dead away.  
  
Meanwhile, in the study…  
  
"Good Lord, he's dead as a doornail!" Spot whispered to himself.  
  
"Who the hell killed him?" Binny demanded, using her umbrella to find her way blindly through the pitch-black room.  
  
"I'm-I'm not dead. I'm alive. They killed him. N-not me. I'm alive. I'm not dead," Noodlesworth babbled to herself. She was crouched in the fetal position, rocking back and forth.  
  
Harlaquinne hit the lights. She stood by the door, trying to steady her shaking her knees by leaning against the doorframe. She pounded a glass of brandy that was sitting on the table next to the door.  
  
"Looks like he got hit with a blunt object," Mush said quietly.  
  
"You would say that!" Davy objected. "You don't have a blunt object."  
  
"No, he's right. Look at his head," said Cats weakly. The blood pooling around Specs' head was even too much for the sadistic guest.  
  
Noodlesworth jumped up from the floor, and ran to Specs' side. At first, she looked at him sullenly, then without notice, glared at him. "Not the Persian rug… No, It can't be, no, no, no, not the Persian rug," she said to herself. "He couldn't bleed to death on something less expensive?"  
  
She fell to her knees, madly mopping up blood with her clean white apron and sobbing. The guests looked at one another, unsure of what to do.  
  
Spot stepped forward hesitantly, and put his trembling hand on Noodle's shoulder. She twitched at his touch, and turned to him. With a flick of her arm, she shook his hand off of her shoulder, and glared at him, nostrils flaring.  
  
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this," she howled hysterically, pounding her fists against the floor.  
  
"And what was it supposed to happen like?" demanded Davy, tapping his foot impatiently.  
  
She ignored him, and continued giving the floor the beating of its life. Mush and Spot grabbed both of her arms, and pulled her to the squashy chair by the fire. She stared unblinkingly into the dancing flames, casting haunting shadows on her pale skin.  
  
"Leave 'er alone, Davey, she's been t'rough somethin' real harsh, well all have. Dis bum got killed," Spot said, standing between Davy and the large squashy chair. "Can we jus' ferget about it fer a minute?"  
  
"One question first," Binny said, biting her lip. "Uh, who killed Specs?" The guests looked at each other, eyes full of suspicion.  
  
As if in a trance, Noodle said, "What does it matter? The police will be here in forty-five minutes; they'll sort the whole thing out. Until then, we just sit tight. No one's going ANYWHERE."  
  
Harlaquinne, who, until then, had remained silent, shouted, "DON'T YOU GET IT? HE'S DEAD! THERE'S A KILLER AMONG US!" The other guests looked at her as if there was a turnip sprouting from her nose. "Well… there is," she added, furrowing her brow, and staring at her shoes.  
  
Suddenly, all eyes were turned from Harlaquinne to the door; a scream was coming from somewhere in the house. Led by Noodlesworth, the guests stampeded from the study, across the hall, and bust through the billiard room door.  
  
"She's dead too!" Davy cried, spotting Stubby's limp form sprawled across the pool table. Lester was whining piteously, nudging Stubby with his nose.  
  
Noodlesworth sprinted from the room, and returned just as quickly, Specs' glasses in hand. She ran to Stubby's side, and held the glasses over her nose and mouth. They fogged up. "She's just fainted, see? She's still breathing," she said, smiling. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small jar. She unscrewed the lid, extracted a filthy sock, and waved it under Stubby's nose.  
  
"Wh-what happened?" asked Stubby. She was terribly disoriented.  
  
"We heard you scream, and when we came in here, you were passed out on the pool table," explained Binny.  
  
"Speaking of that, why did you scream?" Cats inquired.  
  
"Someone said there was a killer on the loose in this house. The natural feminine reaction to having one's life in peril is to shriek and faint," she stated, as if it were common knowledge. "So, which one of you did it?" she asked, giving them all a stern look.  
  
"I didn't!" exclaimed the whole group.  
  
Stubby rolled her eyes. "I'm sure. Who else could have?"  
  
A light bulb appeared over Noodlesworth's head, rather, one would have, were it possible. "The cook!" she shouted, her eyes lit up with excitement.  
  
"To the kitchen!" yelled Binny, leading the pack, her spear-tipped umbrella held high.  
  
Once again, the clacking of women's shoes, and the low thud of men's boots echoed though the cavernous hallway. Binny prodded the door open with her umbrella, and it swung open.  
  
"Voodoo?" Noodlesworth called into the dark kitchen. "Would someone please hit the lights?"  
  
Cats obliged, and the guests shielded their eyes as the room went from inky blackness to blinding fluorescence.  
  
"Sheesh, whaddya need such bright lights fer," Spot groaned, "Makes da place look like a morgue er somethin'." In fact, the place looked strangely sterile, not a crumb to be seen. Everything was in its proper place, not a stray jar of spices or cutting board in sight.  
  
"What are the guests doing in my kitchen?" Voodoo asked, popping up unexpectedly from behind a counter. She was holding a meat thermometer, which made all present quite nervous.  
  
"What are you doing in the kitchen… in the dark?" Noodlesworth countered.  
  
"What? I'm the chef. It's my kitchen. So what's it matter if the lights were off, and I was sitting in the corner sharpening my knives with a maniacal grin on my face?" Voodoo replied defensively.  
  
"Uh, nothing, never mind, we were just checking on you… We, well, we think there's a killer in the house," Noodlesworth said, starting to pace frantically. Binny held out her umbrella in Noodlesworth's path, and she halted, smiling gratefully at the scarlet-clad umbrella-wielder.  
  
"So. You're ok?" Mush asked.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine. You folks want any desert?" she asked.  
  
The guests looked at one another, and then at Noodlesworth. "What? Am I your mother now? If you want to eat, by all means, eat," she said, smoothing her sufficiently rumpled skirt.  
  
Drag…thump.  
  
"What was that?" asked Binny.  
  
"What was what?" Cats replied, as much as a question can be a reply.  
  
Drag…thump.  
  
"That!" Binny nearly shrieked. "It's coming from the hall!"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, everyone in the entire house is in this room," Noodlesworth said, scoffing Binny's fright.  
  
Drag…thump.  
  
"What is that?" Davy said, looking anxiously at the door. The door suddenly had a very foreboding look. Smug, almost. It looked as if it were about to say-  
  
Drag…thump.  
  
But it was interrupted.  
  
"Tell me ya can't hear dat!" Spot whispered at Noodlesworth.  
  
Noodlesworth had to decide one thing. Would she give in to her hearing, and admit that something or someone scary could be drag…thumping up the hall, or be blind, rather, deaf to the situation, and act as if nothing is wrong, and live worry free until the drag…thumper took an axe to her torso. So much to decide, so little time in which to decide. And she did so love her torso… Such is the life of a discontent butler-lady.  
  
She looked at the guest, who all bore a similar expression on their ever- paling faces; deer in headlights. Then at Voodoo, who was picking her teeth with a dangerously, if not comically large knife. Her glance then shifted to Stubby, who was absently snacking on something akin to road kill. HAGGIS!!  
  
"Stubby!" she yelled, but it was too late. Stubby's face was turning a pale shade of green, and she had a look about her that said, "Get me to a toilet, poste haste!"  
  
But getting to a toilet meant opening the door. What was more important? Stubby went with her gut, literally, and charged out the door, never to be heard from again.  
  
The guests looked at each other in awe. Voodoo looked rather put off, that Stubby would dare get sick on her specialty. Noodlesworth simply sighed and said, "I lose more maids that way." She shrugged.  
  
Drag…thump.  
  
"Ok, someone has to see what's making that noise," Noodlesworth said, finally giving in to her practicality.  
  
"Why don't you? You're the butler-ina, or whatever it is you call a female butler," Cats reproached.  
  
"Because." A stronger argument failed her.  
  
"Ok, I'll do it," Mush said, shrugging, as if he was asked to check on an ickle bunny rabbit rather than a drag…thumper. The other guests looked at him queerly.  
  
"What, she had a good argument," he said. He confidently (was it confidence, or stupidity?) strode out the door.  
  
There was a bated silence.  
  
Mush ran back in the kitchen screaming like a five-year-old girl.  
  
"He's alive, and he's very angry."  
  
"Who's alive? Mush, who's out there?" Binny asked.  
  
"S-s-specs."  
  
"That can't be, he was dead as a doornail," Cats replied.  
  
"Since when do doornails drag…thump their way down the hallway with bloodshot eyes, and blood-soaked hair?" Mush snapped.  
  
"Since now."  
  
The door swung open, it's hinges squealing in protest. Specs was leaning casually against the door jamb. At least, as casually as someone who's supposed to be dead can lean in a doorway.  
  
Mouths hung agape.  
  
"What, no applause? Did you not like my impersonation of a head trauma victim?" he asked, biting his lower lip in mock sadness.  
  
Noodlesworth stared dumbly at Specs, desperately searching for something, anything to say. "Eh, uh, huh…" she muttered.  
  
"I believe the phase you're looking for is 'What the hell?'" Specs offered, cocking his head.  
  
"Something like that," she breathed.  
  
"So?" Binny said.  
  
"What do you mean, 'So?'" Specs growled.  
  
"How are you alive?" she asked.  
  
"Simple task of spilling wine on the floor right before someone hit the lights. And holding my breath. And now, I'm going to kill you all," Specs replied, drawing a revolver from his jacket.  
  
Clang. Thud.  
  
Specs fell to the ground, revealing a scantily clad maid.  
  
"It's about time…" grumbled Noodlesworth at the woman.  
  
"I'm late?" she asked.  
  
"Seems more like just in time," Cats mumbled.  
  
The maid beamed with pride. "I try."  
  
"Whiskey, will you please take care of Specs?" Noodlesworth asked.  
  
"Anything he needs," she said suggestively.  
  
Davy coughed something that sounded suspiciously like "necrophiliac," which prompted Binny to ask, "Is he dead?"  
  
Noodlesworth leaned heavily against the counter, rubbing her forehead. "I have no idea," she sighed. "Whiskey, just… do with him what you will," she instructed.  
  
Whiskey looked up at Noodlesworth, her eyes welling up with tears of joy. She dropped Specs' shoulders, and bear hugged Noodlesworth, pinning her arms to her sides. Whiskey released her, ran back to Specs, and dragged him off to parts unknown.  
  
"I'm guessing we don't have to worry about him anymore?" Mush said.  
  
"She can't clean for shit, but she takes care of the boss like no other," Noodle replied shrugging.  
  
"So what about dat desoit?" Spot said, eyeing the kitchen hungrily.  
  
"Voodoo, where's the desert?" Noodlesworth asked, looking around the kitchen. Voodoo was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"Voodoo?" Binny called hesitantly.  
  
"Look for her, will you?" Noodlesworth snapped. The pressure of her job was weighing on her. A runaway chef would be her breaking point.  
  
The guests and Noodlesworth scoured the kitchen, looking high and low; in cabinets, under counters, and finally in the freezer. Voodoo's lifeless body fell from the freezer, on to the unlucky Spot, who proceeded in sputtering as many cuss words as he could think of.  
  
"Get dis Goddamn corpse offa me!" he shouted angrily. He was trying not to touch Voodoo, as the prospect of copping a feel from a corpse wasn't a good one. Mush and Cats gingerly lifted Voodoo off of Spot, and leaned her over the counter.  
  
"What are we going to do with that?" Harlaquinne asked, adjusting her hat.  
  
"Well, I think someone should get the police," Davy said.  
  
"No one is leaving!" Noodlesworth shouted. She was very panicky. Things were not going as planned.  
  
"Why the hell not?" Cats insisted.  
  
"Calm down, everyone just calm down," said Harlaquinne.  
  
Noodlesworth looks at her thankfully, as the other guests settled a bit. "We need to be rational. What if the killer is the one who gets the police? Then we'll never find out who did this, and we might even get blamed for it," she explained.  
  
"Is anyone else in the house?" asked Mush.  
  
"I don't think so. At least, there shouldn't be," Noodlesworth replied.  
  
RING!  
  
The whole room seemed to jump. "It's just the doorbell," Noodlesworth sighed.  
  
"We need to do something with her!" Binny cried nervously.  
  
Noodlesworth paused. "You and Spot, take her to the Study. We'll figure out a more permanent solution later."  
  
RING! RING!  
  
"Impatient bastards," muttered Cats.  
  
"The rest of you, come with me," Noodlesworth said, herding the rest of the guests out of the kitchen like sheep.  
  
RING! KNOCK! POUND! POUND!!  
  
"Coming," Noodlesworth lilted, now leading the "stampede" to the front door. She straightened her white pinafore, and realized it was no longer white, but bloodstained. She tore it off, balled it up, and threw it in the umbrella stand.  
  
She drew the key up from her pocket and unlocked the door. It swung open smoothly, revealing a weary-looking woman, and her equally disheveled male companion.  
  
"About Goddamn time," the woman muttered. Her male friend said nothing, but confusedly eyed Davy, who was making lewd gestures at him.  
  
Binny smacked Davy with her umbrella, and scrunched her nose up at him. "Flirtatious poof," she mumbled.  
  
"Can we dry off for a bit? The rain's really coming down out there, and our horses died," the woman explained. They certainly looked as if they'd been out in the rain for some time. Noodlesworth hesitated, and the woman looked as if she was getting rather angry.  
  
"Just a moment," Noodlesworth replied, closing the door in their faces, and turning to the guests.  
  
As the guests and Noodlesworth formed a huddle, the woman muttered, "No, really, I don't mind five more minutes out in the rain. I want pneumonia."  
  
"Should we let them in?"  
  
"No, I bet they'd find Voodoo, or get suspicious."  
  
"Is it not suspicious to huddle before letting someone in?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"It'll be more suspicious if we don't let them in."  
  
"We have to let him-that is-and her in," Davy insisted, "and get him," he coughed, "Them. Get them out of those wet clothes."  
  
"Ok. It's settled."  
  
Noodlesworth turned back to the couple. "Please, come in. Sorry about the wait."  
  
The woman extended her hand. "Wisecracks, and he's Jack. He doesn't say much, but that's not what I pay-excuse me, love him for," she said, winking suggestively.  
  
Noodlesworth half-smiled, and shook her hand. "Uh, well, the powder room is the first door to the left, right there, and-" she was interrupted by Davy.  
  
"Let me take your coat," he said sweetly to Jack, who seemed very flattered by the attention he was being given. Wisecracks tried to hand her coat to Davy, who glared at her. Lester snapped at her ankles. She gave him a swift kick in the chin. He yelped, and hid in the corner, snarling.  
  
Jack handed his coat to Davy, who absently shoved it at Noodlesworth. Davy gazed at Jack's toned body through his wet, white linen shirt. It took a smart whack on the head from Binny to snap him out of a particular favorite fantasy of his, involving Jack, liberal amounts of whipped cream and chocolate sauce. 


End file.
